


Gimme a Bullet

by dracox_serdriel



Series: Another Chance at the Brass Ring, or Season 9 Fan Fiction [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dastardly Curse, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Friendly Freaks, Gen, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Language, Monster of the Week, Murder Most Foul, Nerd Sam Winchester, New York, Slash, Tsukumogami, West Virginia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of odd deaths indicate supernatural forces at work across the eastern coast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hit Me Low

**Author's Note:**

> **Canon spoilers** : This may contain spoilers from any canon episode of Supernatural through 08x20 "Pac-Man Fever."
> 
> [Read Gimme a Bullet on Livejournal](http://dracox-serdriel.livejournal.com/4314.html)
> 
> **THEN**  
>  [[09x01 - Summertime Blues](http://archiveofourown.org/works/922542/chapters/1792241)]  
> Castiel agreed to be a little more human in the field to avoid angelic assassins. An FBI Agent approaches Sam, fully aware of his identity.

**Spencer, West Virginia**. Jason Emerson pulled up to his house in the early evening, his back aching from all the lifting he'd done that day. He was surprised, although not necessarily pleased, to see a package on his doorstep.

Luckily, the package was only a few pounds. It had no return address, just a postmark from Jamestown, New York. The location brought back memories, and the memories put a smile on his face.

He brought the package inside and opened it in his dining room.

His smile widened. It was a fourteenth century katana, beautifully crafted and in pristine condition. Jason held it in his hands, going through the motions of swordplay without unsheathing the blade.

He set it aside and riffled through the packing materials, certain whoever sent such a gift must have included a note, but all he found was a plain white card with a single foreign character that he didn't recognize.

"Guess I shoulda learned Chinese," he said to himself.

He shrugged and looked up at the ceiling, clutching the card. With no one in particular to thank, he said, "Thank ya, whoever send this, an' thank whatever angel told ya tah send this."

Jason jolted when he saw it: the katana floating at arm height in front of him. The sheath fell away, revealing the sharp, shining edge of the blade. He felt the terror well up inside him.

With a single swipe, the katana struck from shoulder to hip, then hip to hip, then straight across his neck.

Jason Emerson hit the floor in five pieces, with the katana perched innocently on the table above him, covered in his blood.

 

 **Lebanon, Kansas**. Sam felt the color drain from his face. He'd dealt with FBI Agents before, sure, but an FBI Agent who worked with monsters? That was new.

"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded. 

"Relax, I'm not your enemy," the agent replied as she discreetly pushed her badge in front of him. "My name is Special Agent Dakota Gage, but like I said before, most people call me Dodge. And we have so much to talk about, Sam Winchester."

Sam quickly made mental notes of her features. She was five foot eight with medium-length brown hair, dark brown eyes, a small nose, and visible cheekbones. 

"Funny," Sam snapped, "usually it's my enemies that sick shape shifters after me."

"That's what he was?" Dodge asked, tucking her badge back into her pocket. 

"I'm guessing that's what you are, too."

"No, I'm human."

"Prove it."

Dodge raised an eyebrow. "Okay, how?"

Sam pulled out a small silver knife kept in his jacket pocket and held it out to her.

"What do you want me to do with that?"

"Show me you bleed red." 

Without flinching, Dodge took it and pressed it into the palm of her hand until she drew blood. As she handed the blade back, she said, "No exactly subtle, huh?" 

She wasn't wrong. Some of the wait staff had started throwing them odd looks.

"Tell me," Sam said. "What's an FBI Agent doing working with a shifter, pretending to be a social worker?"

Dodge replied, "I know it was something pretending to be Daniel Coopers, but I didn't know what. And it came to me about you. Said he'd found two spree killers reported dead about two years back."

"That happen a lot? Monsters just approach you with critical information?"

"No. Well, not that I'm aware of, anyway," she said. "The only reason this... shifter, you called it? Right. The shifter came to me because I started poking around the spree-killer case after the agent handling it disappeared."

"And why would you do that?" he asked.

"Because it involved hunters."

"Hunters?" Sam faltered.

"Like your father." 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She reached out and touched Sam's forearm, as if to calm him down. "He saved my life, and my ass, too. Which is saying a lot, since I was trying to bust his at the time."

He jerked his arm away from her. "Sure he did."

"You don't trust me, I get it. And I've got no proof that I just pulled you and your brother out of the fire... but I do have this for you."

She pulled out an enormous file clamped together. 

"Am I supposed to know what that is?"

"This is the reason I'm here," she explained. "It's what I'm trying to stop."

She flipped it open to reveal a newspaper clipping titled AMANDA HOLMES-MCCOY SENTENCED FOR 25 YEARS FOR MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE.

She said, "Technically, it's true. She was possessed. Her body was used to kill someone."

"And how do you know that?" Sam asked.

"I witnessed her exorcism."

Sam stifled his laugh of disbelief. "So you want me to, what, bust her out?"

"No, I want to help people like her from being put away."

"Then do it."

Dodge smiled bitterly. She replied, "I do my best, but I'm just an FBI Agent. I can't grant pardons, or prove someone was possessed, or that they were killing a vampire instead of a human being."

Sam shifted. He was very uncomfortable, and he had to fight his desire to flee from the diner and hope she couldn't catch up.

"I know I only know enough to make my life difficult," she continued. "You're not the first hunter I've covered for, but you are the first one I've reached out to."

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm tired of hating myself for not being able to do more," she replied. "And I was hoping you would be more like your father."

Sam nearly stood up, but he controlled himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch her in the face or make a break for it. 

Dodge didn't like the attention their conversation drew, so she pulled out a business card and put it on the file. 

"Take a look at the files, see what I'm talking about. You change your mind, or you need something, call me."

She stood up and left without giving him a chance to reply.


	2. Something to Chew

**Men of Letters Bunker**. Castiel glanced over the list materials, "None of this causes angels any ill effect," he remarked dryly. "No substance does."

"What about the angel blade things?" Dean asked. "I mean, those can kill angels, so what're they made of?"

"It's not what they're made from, it's how they're made. They're forged to kill angels, the material is irrelevant."

"Okay, so nothing we can make a room out of is angel-proof. Then we can do up some kinda sigil, right?"

The angel's silence enveloped Dean.

"You know, something that lets an angel in but keeps the angel mojo out."

Cas thought about this for a moment. "Sigils usually strip power, cause pain, or trap angels..."

Dean saw the wheels still turning in the angel's head, so he waited a solid minute before asking, "Cas?"

"I remember a sigil used for parley... one that blocked an angel's power but didn't trap him, but I can't remember it. I don't think anyone's used it for hundreds of years... millennia even." As if a light bulb went off, he added, "We should ask Sam."

"I'll add that to the to-do list," Dean said. He didn't relish the idea of asking his brother for help on this one. 

"Did you add sigils to the car?" 

"Sam did. He does all nerd-related work."

Sam busted in the front door, rushing into the room as quickly as possible. "We've got a problem."

"Tell me something I don't know," Dean dismissed.

"Involving the FBI."

"Damn it."

"You scheduled me to practice firearms targeting now Dean," the angel reminded him. 

"Let me deal with this first, Cas, then we'll go shoot some shit up."

"I will, uh... start looking for Enochian sigils."

That caught Sam's attention. "For what, exactly?"

"Sam, the FBI?" Dean pressed. "What's going on, Sammy?"

Sam explained his interaction with Dodge, over his brother's many interruptions and curses. 

"Did you actually take the file from her?"

"Yeah, just in – "

" – and how do you know they weren't bugged or something?"

"Because I checked. I'm not an idiot, Dean."

"Well, you let an FBI Agent – "

" – let? She dropped in on me, I didn't let her."

"Okay, well, how much does she know?" Dean asked.

Even in the other room, Castiel could tell when Dean paced; it gave off a very particular atmosphere, a humidity, for lack of a better word. He didn't like it. 

Dean's cell phone rang. Repeatedly. Not sure what else to do, Cas picked it up.

"Hello? No, this isn't Dean, but this is his phone... Cas... yes, I remember meeting you. Why are you calling?"

Meanwhile, the brothers continued to their unpleasant conversation. 

Sam said, "As far as I can tell, she knows about Dad, me, and you. She said she's helped out other hunters but didn't name and names, so I can't be sure."

"Okay, well, we need to vet the crap outa her, because the last thing we need with the freaking angels is the FBI after us again."

"Obviously," Sam remarked.

"It's really important, Sam, that she doesn't find out about the bunker, or Cas for that matter – "

" – Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? I know that. Calm down." 

Cas interrupted them, "Uh, Dean, Garth called you."

"And you picked up?"

"At the time, it seemed perfectly sensible."

"Yeah, it was, Cas. What did Garth say?" Sam asked quickly to head Dean off from another rant.

"He said he thinks he has a case."

"So why isn't he working it?" Dean asked.

"He says he's with the Prophet helping him settle into his new house."

"'Course he is," Dean muttered.

"What's the case?" 

"Spencer, West Virginia. A man was found cut to pieces in his home," the angel said matter-of-factly. "Similar reports have happened in four other states as well. I wrote them down."

Sam took the paper from the angel, which listed the following: Jamestown, New York; Clearfield, Pennsylvania; Cumberland, Maryland; Litchfield, Illinois; and Spencer, West Virginia. The handwriting was oddly child-like.

"I'm not used to writing English," Cas admitted shyly. "I will practice that after firearms training."

Dean smiled. "That's my boy," he said under his breath. 

"Five bodies in a week? We gotta check this out. I can be ready in ten," Sam said.

Cas sulked as Dean began, "You're gonna stay here, right? Letting the trail go cold after that Tamandy jerk – "

" – Tamandriel – "

" – whatever... You'll be here?"

"I suppose I can look up that sigil while you are away," Castiel conceded. "You'll call?"

Sensing additional tension, Sam bowed out to his room under the guise of getting his bag.

"What're you, my wife?" Dean shot at Cas.

"That would be an odd term," the angel replied.

"Answering my phone, making me call... sounds like my wife."

"I answered the phone because you were too busy arguing with your brother to do so. I was trying to help," Cas replied. He felt embarrassed, but he didn't know why. "And I feel better when you call."

Even Dean couldn't argue with this, having felt lost and alone when Cas disappeared on him. "Fine," he said, heading up to his room for his bag.

 

 **Spencer, West Virginia**. Sam and Dean rolled into West Virginia that night. Sam wondered if it was too soon to joke about the two phone calls Dean made to Cas. But he couldn't decide, so he held back.

"According to these two articles," Sam said from behind his computer, "at least two of our vics had a card in their hands."

"You think it's a connection?"

"Besides being found in pieces," Sam continued, "hopefully we can dig up some more tomorrow at the morgue."

"So I put some feelers out about this Dodge chick," Dean began. "To like the three hunters we know who aren't dead or Garth... Hopefully they'll get back to us."

"Did you ask Garth?"

"You should," Dean said, pulling his face into a dramatic smile. "I'm calling it."

"Dean – " Sam began, but dropped it.

 

"Agents Ward and Colwell," Sam said as he and Dean held out their badges. "We're here to see..."

"Jason Emerson," Dean finished from his notes. 

The coroner smiled at Dean. Sam noticed her long, black hair and dark green eyes, but his brother had barely looked at her.

"I'm Shane," she introduced herself. "Follow me, agents."

She showed them into a lab where Jason's body was still prepped. His legs were laid out in place. His upper torso had been cut diagonally in two. His head sat above his neck, severed with a clean blow.

"The autopsy showed his head was cut off last," she stated, conversationally. "The forensics guys were in here about an hour ago, talking about the blood splatter. I'm sure you agents have your own tech team filling you in. Right? I've never worked with the FBI before..."

She continued overtly flirting with Dean, which was a feat not only because Dean was now dating an angel, but also given the subject matter at hand.

"Sorry," Sam interrupted. "You said something about the blood splatter?"

"Right, well, that's the odd thing. Apparently, the blood patterns suggest that the victim collapsed to the floor after his head was cut off."

The two brothers stared blankly at her. 

She continued. "It would take at least three strikes to do this." She mimed the moments as she spoke. "One from shoulder to hip, then another to cut off the legs, and a third to cut off the head."

"So, he just stood there and let someone slice into him?" Dean asked.

"Well, if the splatter guys are right, either his assailant was quick as lightning or this guy and his parts defied gravity," the coroner replied.

"Because he should've fallen over when the sword cut him diagonally," Sam said to show her they'd cottoned on.

"Well, yeah. But that's just if you believe the forensics guys. They're supergeeks but that doesn't mean they're right."

"Of course," Dean placated her. "Could we have a minute?"

"Sure," she smiled again. 

"Oh, one more question," Sam said as she exited. "Was the victim holding anything when he died?"

"Actually, yes," she replied. "His personal effects are over there, in the pan. Evidence is coming for it, so if you want a look..." She winked.

Dean pulled out his cell phone and snapped photos of the bloodied card. "Looks like a letter," he said.

"Yeah, I'd say Japanese," Sam commented. 

"Nerd," Dean teased.

"I'm the nerd? Betty Boop Coroner was practically drooling over you, and you? You're staring at some dead guy."

"She was not."

"Wow," Sam said, shaking his head. "Someone put a ring on your finger."

"Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Sammy," Dean replied placidly. He pulled out his EMF reader and hovered it over the personal items and then the body. "No EMF..."

"Does this seem witchy to you?" Sam asked. 

"Well, if that card is some kind of hex mark, that'd make sense," Dean replied.

"Yeah, but, are witches still around?" Sam asked.

"Unfortunately."

"No, I mean, most of the witches we met got their mojo from Dark Magic, which came from Demons... if the Demons are gone, shouldn't witches be too?" Sam asked.

"You are such a dweeb," Dean said. "And while I like the idea of no more skeevy bitches to gank, I don't think we're that lucky."

"Okay, then we should check out the vic's place."

"And we need to look up this symbol, too," Dean added.


	3. Called the Play

Deputy Samuel Hamilton saw the two FBI Agents approach. They caught his attention because they rolled up in an Impala, which didn't seem exactly government-issued.

"Gentlemen," Hamilton said as he stopped them. 

"This is Agent Colwell," Dean pointed to Sam. "I'm Agent Ward."

"Ah, I'm Deputy Hamilton, we're just clearing out now, actually. Scene's all yours."

"Thanks."

Despite letting them have the scene, the deputy followed them through the door. "We found the murder weapon on the table right there," he said. "Damndest thing, it's a fourteenth century katana. Beautiful sword."

"You know a lot about these, uh, katana?" Dean asked. 

"I'm something of a sword enthusiast."

"Is this just like you found it?" Sam asked, pointing to the open package on the table. 

"Uh, yeah, I think."

"Any idea what was in the box? Maybe the sword?" Dean asked.

The deputy nearly coughed his laugh was so sharp. "Hell-no! No one in their right mind would pack such a valuable item like that!"

"Well, okay. Thank you for you help," Sam said. 

Hamilton read between the lines and bowed out. "I'll be at the station," he said as he left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sam started looking for hex bags, and Dean scanned with the EMF Reader. 

"Nothing," Dean muttered. 

His phone rang. 

Sam didn't bother hiding his expression as Dean picked up and said, "Cas, yeah, we're at the crime scene." 

Returning fruitlessly from his search of the house, Sam turned to the package on the table. It had no return address. 

"Suspicious," Sam said, forgetting Dean was on the phone. 

"I'll call back when we know something, okay?" Dean said into the phone before hanging up.

"No hex bags or anything witchy."

"No EMF."

"So... nothing."

"Maybe the sword... thingie is a cursed object," Dean suggested.

The postmark on the box distracted Sam. "Do you have the list that Garth gave us?" he asked.

"Great listening," Dean said as he pulled out the paper and handed it to his brother. "Got something?"

"Jamestown, New York."

"Sounds like a blast."

"No, Dean, this package was shipped from there, and according to this list, that's where the first murder took place."

"Are you thinking, what, maybe someone sent the cursed object here?" Dean asked. 

"I don't know."

"Okay," Dean started. "Well, I say we grab that katana and box it up in some heavy duty tupperware and then haul ass to Jamestown. Sound good?"

"Dunno, maybe you should run it by Cas."

"Don't even go there, douchebag."

 

Dean hated doing research on the computer, but Sam made a valid point about pulling off the swap. Shane, the overly flirty coroner, was at the police station, and she'd definitely draw attention to Dean's presence as soon as he walked in. So, reluctantly, Dean purchased a katana-like object at a local pawnshop and handed it off to his brother, who ducked into the police station and headed for the evidence room with the strongest hex box they could wrangle in two hours.

Luckily, the character wasn't difficult to find because it wasn't some ancient variation or obscure dialect. It was a modern variation of the word "enemy" in Japanese. Dean felt annoyed it took him twenty minutes to pull up this information because Sam could've found it in five.

Before he could finish his thought, the car trunk opened. He looked up and saw Sam drop the hex box in.

 

Two hours on the road had both Sam and Dean scratching their heads. 

"Okay, so maybe it is witchcraft, or a curse, and the card is the targeting mechanism," Sam suggested. "It could be something to do with Japanese tradition, but I've never read anything about that."

"Cursed objects usually work on whoever touches them, right?" Dean asked. "Maybe the card is just a message from the killer, you know, a 'Screw you asshole, I'm too good to kill you in person?'"

Sam's phone rang. "Agent Colwell."

Dean loved to drive, but waiting on information from Sam grated his nerves.

"I see, that's definitely not a sword," he said. He listened for another minute or so before he replied, "One more question. Did the victim receive any packages on or around the day he died? ...Really, could you check the postmark on that? ...Thank you."

He hung up.

"Good news, bad news," he said to Dean.

"Dealer's choice."

"The good news is that the vic in Maryland also received a package from Jamestown, so we're on the right track."

"But?"

"The vic wasn't cut up with a sword. The weapon found at the crime scene was actually a very old fan."

Dean snorted. "Sorry, a dude was killed by a fan? I mean, not spinning blades of doom fan but like, old hand-waving fan?"

"From the description, it sounds like a folding fan used by soldiers."

"Come again?"

"I think it's called a tessen, but I'd have to look it up to be sure. They're made of iron, and people would carry them because they looked harmless, but they aren't. They could be used to disarm enemies – "

" – and kill people?" 

"Dean, the iron bars that hold the far together have sharp tips, the guy was slashed apart with it."

"I guess that'd do it."

"And that's not all."

"It's not?"

"The weapon went missing from the evidence room today."

That brought a few moments of silence.

"You think Garth maybe put another hunter on this? Or one picked up the trail?" Dean suggested.

"I guess it's possible, but the guy who just called didn't mention talking to any other feds or anything."

"So, we've got possible witch. Possible cursed object. Or both, maybe. We've got five dead people, at least two weapons... one we took, another someone else took..." Dean realized summarizing was just confusing him, so he ended with, "What the hell?"

Sam shook his head before he picked up his phone.

"Calling Garth?" Dean asked.

"No, the other stations that have one of these murders. See if they identified a murder weapon and if it went poof overnight mysteriously."

 

 **Jamestown, New York**. The confusion didn't end with the body in Jamestown. The victim had penetrating wounds through her heart and both eyes.

"Done with a Jutte," the coroner explained. He reminded Dean of Garth, weedy and tall and overly excited. "It's a specialized weapon – "

"From Japan?" Sam prompted.

"Yeah, actually, it is. The weapon's an old one, too," he said. "Gotta be from the early seventeen hundreds, great condition. Too bad it'll be locked away in evidence forever now."

"What do we know about the vic?" Dean asked.

"Her ID says her name is Amanda Rivers," the coroner replied. "But it's a fake. We booked her under Jane Doe."

"How did you know it was a fake name?"

"Well, Agent Ward, Amanda Rivers is five three and one hundred twenty pounds, according to the DMV."

They all instinctively looked at the woman on the table. She was five five and stacked.

"There's no way she only weighs a buck twenty," Dean commented.

"No, but the picture's a close enough match... when the police went to give notice, apparently she was there," the coroner laughed. When the brothers shot him quizzical looks, he replied, "Morbid humor. It grows on you."

"Stolen identity... what else do we know about her?"

"Dunno, you should check the file."

"Thanks," Sam said, giving enough edge to his voice for the coroner to get the point and leave. 

"Seriously, a freaking jutte? An iron fan? What the hell, Sammy?"

Sam had opened the file and began speed-reading. 

"What?" Dean demanded.

"She was found in an alley, but there's no mention of her having anything like that card with the character on it."

"So not only does this chick not have a real name, she also breaks the only connection we have. Awesome."

"Yeah, but all the packages do trace back here, and she's a good place to start. The only place to start."

"What, like she's the freaking outbreak monkey but with cursed Japanese weapons?" Dean snarked.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking."

Sometimes his brother baffled him. For someone so smart, he sure said a lot of dumb things. "Okay, then what do you suggest?" 

"We need to figure out what she was doing in town with a stolen identity. So, step one, find where she was staying."

 

They hit up half the motels and hotels in the area before finding where fake Amanda Rivers had a room. 

"Yeah," the buck-tooth old clerk said. "She wuz in hare... dunno, 'bout a week. Paid for za week up ahead'o time."

"She still checked in?" Dean asked. 

"Technically, no, but hasn't checked out."

"So her room is still in tact?"

"Uh, yuh, zatz what I just zaid." 

"We're going to need the key, then," Sam said, holding up his badge.

Unfortunately, her room was less than telling. The safe wasn't used. The bed was made. None of the drawers were used. The closet was empty. 

"Enlightening," Dean muttered as he came up empty on the bathroom check. 

"She stole an identity, so let's assume she was doing something illegal here. Where would you or I put something we needed to stash if we didn't want anyone to find?"

"In the car."

"If we had to leave it in the room."

"Uh, I guess... tucked into a wall or in the bed frame?"

Every suggestion proved a dead end until Dean checked the ceiling, which was made of fire-safe foam tiles. He moved one and looked in to see a bag tucked away.

"Awesome."

Grappling hook. Ropes. Lock picks. Alarm disablers. Gloves, mask, the whole nine... all heavy duty, all -

"Professional," Sam said. "We're looking at a professional thief here, Dean."

"Why the hell would a thief steal – "

" – she was hired."

It wasn't a question. Sam pulled out a chunk of cash, at least five thousand dollars. 

"Bonus," Dean said, pocketing it. "And maybe not. Maybe she fenced something before being kabobed." 

"I guess."

"Well, if she did steal them, she probably got it from around here, right? Let's see if anyone reported some ancient crap missing," Dean said happily.

 

No reported break-ins. Nothing reported stolen. Dead ends all around. That was the only way Dean allowed his younger brother to drag him to museums and antique shops all over the area.

The Baldwin Antique Shop wasn't the place, but the young woman on staff seemed wary to Sam. She was a little off-put by the questions they ran by her.

"We're looking into some stolen property," said Sam, showing his badge. "Agent Colwell."

"I'm Sarah," she said. "You think something was stolen?"

"We know," Dean said, showing his ID. "And it's all old weaponry from Japan."

"Okay, how can I help?"

"Do you know of anyone who may collect or have weapons like a fourteenth century katana? Tessen, jutte, kanabo, sasumata?" Sam rattled these off, watching her expression. 

It was subtle, but she swallowed hard as he mentioned the katana. 

"Where did these things go missing?" she asked.

"Evidence rooms from all over the country," Dean said nonchalantly. 

Sarah pointed to a weapons rack in the back of the store. "Those are the weapons we have here. To be honest, we don't keep anything that old here. If we did, I'm guessing it would go really fast. A lot of people collect around here."

Dean went to inspect the weapons in question.

"Sarah," Sam started. "We know the weapons were mailed out from Jamestown, and we know the thief that stole at least one of them is now in the morgue."

She looked down and shook her head. "That's awful – "

"And we have the katana," Sam interjected.

"I thought you said it went missing from evidence?"

"We wanted to make sure that didn't happen again," Sam replied. "Look, I can tell you know something, and all we want the killing to stop."

"I don't understand," she said quickly. "I thought you were talking about – "

" – people are dying, Sarah. And with every body, an ancient weapon mailed from Jamestown. Tell me what you know."

She looked scared and trapped. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Finally, she replied, "My cousin, Anna Lang. She and her brother have a collection like you described. They told me someone broke in, hijacked some of the collection. They've been trying to hunt it down, but neither one of them would hurt anyone. So whatever you think is going on, it's not them, okay? It's not - "

"I need an address," Sam interrupted.


	4. Make Believe It's You

Anna Lang lived on a cul-de-sac across from her brother.

"Not exactly where I expected to find a witch," Dean muttered. "You sure we can trust this Sarah chick?"

"No, but it's all we got, okay? Let's – "

He was stopped by the sound of rattling coming from the trunk. 

"What the hell?" Dean asked. 

"You better open it," Sam said.

"Hell no, you want to be slice'n'diced?"

"Dean, the damn thing is in a hex box," Sam argued. 

"A makeshift hex box."

"No, this one is powerful."

"Then what's rattling around in there?"

"Open the damn trunk so we can find out!"

Tentatively, Dean popped the trunk from the front seat. The katana flew up into the sky, and from the rear-view mirror, Dean saw it spin mid-air, then fly off into an open window in Anna's house.

Sam reacted first and got to the trunk. The hex box was popped open like it was nothing. 

"What the hell?" he asked.

Dean looked at Anna's house. "You think we should just knock and ask about the flying magic sword?"

"Shut up."

 

"Neither of them were home, Cas," Dean said into his phone.

They were staking out the houses. Of course, the Impala stood out in the cul-de-sac, and they didn't really make much attempt to conceal themselves. 

"Now it's a waiting game... no, Sam's still sulking over his hex box that proved a bust. Apparently it didn't have the mojo he expected."

Sam rolled his eyes. 

"Okay, Cas, I'll call you tonight," Dean hung up.

"Whipped," Sam commented.

"Don't be pissy with me because you were wrong."

"Actually, I don't think I am," Sam said. "I think I figured out what we're dealing with: Tsukumogami."

"Obviously, right, why didn't I think of that?" Dean said sarcastically. "What the hell is that, Sam?"

"The Japanese believed that, after a hundred years of service, an object could become a Tsukumogami. Essentially, it became conscious."

"So, on its hundred year birthday, the thing would come alive? And, what, dance?"

"The lore isn't clear on that, and a lot of it is contradictory, but this makes sense."

"My ass."

"I mean, these aren't cursed objects, Dean. They're entities in and of themselves. That's why the hex box didn't work. It's made to contain a curse, not a living thing."

"Then how do we gank these mothers?"

"Destroying them would work... but there's also something here about Jinja Ceremonies..."

"Jenga? Isn't that the tower game?"

"No, Dean, these are... celebrations of the objects. They console the spirits to rest."

"That'll stop them from ganking people forever?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But we might need to do it so we have enough time to melt them down or whatever."

"We could still be dealing with a witch," Dean pressed. "Damnit, I hate witches."

"I don't think so. Anna and her brother come up squeaky clean – "

He was interrupted by Anna's car pulling up. 

They stepped out of the Impala and approached her before she got out of her car. 

"Anna Lang?" Sam asked.

"Yes," she said, closing her car door.

"We need to talk." They held up their badges. Her expression said everything.

"Right, come on in," she said as she walked to her front door.

The first few moments of the conversation were awkward and tense. 

Dean finally dropped the federal pretense sand said, "Look, lady, we had your ancient katana locked up in a hex box with mondo mojo, and it broke out like it was nothing, so start talking."

Anna had expected many things, but this was clearly not one of them. 

"Who the hell are you people?" she asked. "You're not feds! Get out of my house!"

"You're right, we're not feds," Sam said. "But we're not leaving, either. People are dying out there, and right now all the evidence points to you and your brother."

Anna closed her eyes. "It's not us."

"But the Tsukumogami are yours?" Sam made the question into a punch. It worked nicely.

"How do you know - "

" – doesn't matter," Dean snapped. "If it's not you, then who is it?"

"Someone broke in and stole a dozen things from my display room. Someone who knew what they were doing."

"You didn't report it?" Sam asked.

"And say what? The ancient living objects given to me to protect were taken from under my nose? Oh, and they might kill you?"

"Good point," Sam said.

"I didn't know that same someone had stolen my address book," she said. "Not until two days ago, when I got another phone call."

"Another phone call?"

Anna looked like the world was falling around her. "Everyone who has died... because of all this. They're all friends of my family. People who I knew and trusted."

"You know anyone who has grudge against you or your family?" Dean asked. 

"Plenty," she said. "But no one who knew all the people who have died so far." 

"So they knew you, and the killer knew you knew them," Sam said. "Maybe the killer's selecting marks by some other metric."

"Metric?" Dean asked.

Dismissing his brother, Sam continued, "Do they have anything in common? Maybe where you knew them from, or which family member they were closest with?"

"No," Anna shook her head sadly. "And there are six more Tsukumogami out there."

"We should start a list of suspects, and - "

Dean interrupted, "Wait a minute, we didn't interview any family."

"We didn't. So what?"

"I mean, the police didn't have a next of kin in the area, and they were all single, living alone, no children," Dean pointed out. Sam looked shocked. "What? I notice things."

"So maybe the guy is targeting people without families? Does that sound like anyone you know?" Sam asked.

Anna's jaw dropped, "Yes, but..."

"We need a name."

"Calvin Flannery," she said. "He's my ex."

"Okay, we need an address," Dean said. "And the six weapons of doom."

"What?"

"We need to melt'em down, make sure they're not – "

"No," Anna replied.

"Lady, they've killed people. They've gotta go down."

"You mean like how people put a dog to sleep after it kills a human, even when the dog was ordered to kill by its master?" she asked.

This dug into Sam's skin. He found the idea of killing a dog for being used as a weapon repugnant. "This is different," he rationalized.

"Why? Because dogs are cute and fuzzy and people generally like them?" Anna snapped. "Tsukumogami are living entities. They were used to kill people, but it's no more their fault now than when they were inanimate. Someone put a bulls-eye on each victim... otherwise, they'd never hurt anyone."

Dean looked ready to argue, but Sam interrupted. "We get it, you're in charge of protecting them. But can you assure us that they'll never kill again?"

"Once I have them all back, yes," Anna replied. "I should've added warding magic and other protection, but I didn't think it was necessary. This won't happen again."

"All right," Sam cut Dean off before he could start. "Let's stop the killing first, then worry about this later."


	5. Ain't No Cure

Calvin Flannery lived in an apartment downtown. Sam and Dean changed into their street clothes and used the fire escape to get into his fifth-story room.

Sure enough, they found three more packages ready for shipment. 

"This is our guy, definitely," Sam said. "And that means he's shipped out three others already."

"So, what, he hires a thief to steal some magic objects from his ex to kill off her friends?" Dean asks. "That make sense to you?"

But Sam had already noticed the apartment was devoid of photographs and other paraphernalia people keep as reminders of their family. 

"Maybe if he felt like she abandoned him. He's punishing her or something," Sam said.

"You know, I think I'd prefer a witch to some guy who can't get over himself."

"That what you think, boy?" the voice came out of the darkness. 

Both brothers jumped. They had done a sweep just a minute ago, and the apartment was empty. 

The voice continued, "This is about her, not me. She thinks she can just leave her family behind and have no consequence? Just like all these other assholes. They didn't lose their families like me, they left'em."

"So, naturally, you kill them," Dean admonished. "Really, dude? That's your play?"

"You boys must be the ones cleaning up her mess, huh? Because that has got to stop."

"Like to see you try, bitch," Dean said, pointing his gun at Calvin's face. 

With a flick of his wrist, Calvin sent a card flying into Sam's chest, where it stuck like a nametag. No sooner had this happened than a long, thin spear shot straight at him. 

"Crap!" Dean exclaimed as Sam tumbled down to the floor. Knives and guns weren't going to help much against a Tsukumogami.

Luckily, Sam managed to wrangle the spear, knocking its precise motions out of the way. He landed several grazing shots to the arms for his trouble. 

Meanwhile, Dean took two shots at Calvin. The bastard was pretty scrappy, though, and he ducked out of the way in time to roll. Somehow, he managed to slip a card into Dean's pocket while doing it.

What Dean saw was a fast moving hatchet zipping towards his face. He ducked and took another shot at Calvin, hitting him in the leg.

The scream the guy let out was high; it sounded like a teapot whistle. Normally Dean would belittle a man for a scream like that, but at the moment, he was too busy. The hatchet kept trying to slice his head off. 

"We're not your enemies!" Sam shouted at the spear that kept trying to skewer him. "We were sent by Anna Lang, to bring you home!"

"Yeah, and this douchebag here," Dean yelled to no one in particular, "he's trying to use you to hurt her and her brother!"

"No use, boy," Calvin said as he hemorrhaged on the floor. "They've got their marks, and these're soldiers. They never question an order."

"Yes they do!" Sam said as if to compliment the inanimate-yet-somehow-moving-object attacking him. "They can question an order, especially where it came from. This man is not a friend of yours or the Lang Family."

Dean had seen his brother drink blood like a vampire. He'd seen him as a meat suit for Lucifer, exploding Cas and snapping Bobby's neck. He'd seen the dude walk around as a soulless asshat. But his brother trying to convince a spear to stand down? That seemed crazy even by Winchester standards.

His extended thought process earned him a grazing wound down his shoulder from the damn hatchet. 

"Crap!" Dean exclaimed. "We are not the bad guys here!"

"Calvin Flannery is an enemy of the Lang Family, not us!" Sam shouted. 

Both the hatchet and the spear stopped, mid-air. They wheeled around on Calvin, who was still laughing and bleeding on the floor.

His laugh died away as both weapons made quick, precise attacks that left him impaled and cut to bits. 

"That'll do," Dean commented as the objects rested placidly.

 

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam jabbered on about the spear, or yari as he called it, and the ono that attacked them. 

"I get it," Dean said. "They're old and cool for nerds."

"And he was sending people a kodachi, chokuto, and yawara!" Sam continued. 

"Wow," Dean said tersely. "Can we go now?"

They had dropped their findings off at Anna Lang's house.

"There's still something else missing, though, right?" Sam asked her.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, a kama," she said. She hesitated before continuing. "To be honest, I didn't think I could trust you, but I'm glad I did."

"Why did you?" Dean asked.

"What other choice did I have?" she asked. It sounded so simple, but it hit Sam right in the gut. 

"We can help you get the kama back," Dean offered.

"No, I know where he sent it," she said. "He tore pages out of my address book."

"So, no more killing?"

"Thanks to you two."

 

 **Men of Letters Bunker**. Castiel had made quite a mess. Books filled with sigils were lain about here and there, propped or pinned open. Sam geared up to blow a gasket, but Cas explained he'd clean house as soon as he found the right one. 

"We need one that will stop my powers but not trap me or hurt me," Cas explained. 

"Why would you want that?"

"For his human training," Dean cut Cas off before he could utter the words 'safe-sex room' to his brother. 

"To prevent more exploding mishaps," Cas added.

Sam turned a shade of red usually reserved for total-immersion embarrassment. "Right, I'll start looking, how's about you two get some diner?" he said quickly.

"Sure," Dean responded, guiding Cas away by the arm. 

It was true that Sam remembered reading about a sigil like Castiel described. He thought he even knew which book to check, but something about helping his brother's sex life by taking away angel mojo felt very wrong to him. Nevertheless, he flipped through each book, shutting them when he saw it didn't contain the sigil.

And there it was, in a copy of a book that had a title that translated to something like "Peace Talk" or "Peace Meeting." Sam marked the page with a sticky note and set the book aside.

Sam then turned to the giant file Dodge had given to him earlier that week. What Anna Lang said made him wonder if maybe he should trust someone, too. At the very least, he should see what Dodge had to offer before deciding to blow her off forever.

He barely made a dent before Cas called from the kitchen, "Dean says you need to get your ass in here!"

"Be right there!" Sam called back.

Sam was surprised how much the file had angered him. In the dozen pages he'd scanned, there were over thirty people imprisoned due to demon possession. Two more seemed to be under a curse, and at least three seemed witch-related. 

He and Dean had had more than their fair share of good people put away for killing, mauling, or stealing under the influence of the supernatural, but this file contained hundreds of people, all put away, some for life. The worst part was that some of them didn't even know they had been cursed or possessed. Doing life for killing your family, thinking you did it for no reason at all? That's a very special kind of hell no one should have to live in.

It clicked for Sam. He got what Dodge had been going through, like he saw it - or rather, he felt it - in a different light. He didn't want to let this stand, either.

He pulled her card out of his pants pocket. Dean and Cas didn't need to be involved. 

Sam snorted as he reminded himself that those two would be busy now they've got this sigil to prevent Cas from blowing the place up. They'd likely be locked away for a day or two making up for lost time... 

Sam shook the sex images out of his head. 

"Sammy! Food! Now!" Dean shouted.

"Coming." 

He tucked the card back into his pocket for later. Maybe he'll give Dodge a call tomorrow.


End file.
